


Just Call

by ArmsofWar



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Gen, I have a lot of feelings, M/M, Pissed!Dean, SPNverse - Freeform, angsty angst, feeeeeelings, injured!Cas, inspired by a tumblr gif
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 04:46:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2609009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArmsofWar/pseuds/ArmsofWar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is injured and Dean is pissed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Call

**Author's Note:**

> Hey friends. This is a one-shot inspired by "The Man Who Would Be King" which is in the sixth season of Supernatural. My memory of the episode is very skewed, but I liked the idea of Dean getting pissed because Castiel doesn't need him.

The door would have been ripped off its hinges if it hadn’t been a particularly sturdy and freshly installed door. Well, freshly installed before the building was apparently abandoned. But still, a strong door is a strong door (and is really not the point of this story at all).    
  


Behind the door, Castiel sat on the makeshift examination table looking worse for wear. He wasn’t beyond repair or anything, but Dean could see blood and bruises and ooze and  pain . Still, for as much as Dean feared otherwise, Castiel was surprisingly alive. 

It was only because that stupid piece of shit of an angel was alive that Dean stormed in like a man possessed, grabbed Castiel by the shoulders and shouted, “What the everliving hell is  wrong with you?” He could feel the room—the table, the papers, the angel in his hands—vibrating as he clutched at the stupid man’s stupid trenchcoat that Dean thought he’d never see again.

Castiel glanced down at his body, possibly to avoid the intense green eyes or perhaps to actually assess and answer the question  literally,  which was evident once the idiot started saying “Well, I have three wounds on my right forearm although one appears to be already on the mend—.”   
  


Dean, with a huff, let go of the angel and grunted, “I didn’t mean it  physically,  Cas. I meant you and your stupid angel brain!” 

Castiel paused, his head tilting in that stupid—endearing, no shut up— way that he tended towards. “I don’t know exactly what sort of answer you’re looking for with that description.”    
  


Dean ran his fingers through his hair in agitation, strangling the small blonde strands rather than his best friend who continued to stared at him with his dumb, idiot blue stare.    
  


“I told you, didn’t I?” Dean growled, “I told you that if you ever needed help, you were supposed to call me.” 

  
“But I didn’t need you,” Castiel shot back, all the calm in his voice not quite matching the slow burn of irritation in his eyes, “I believed I was totally capable in handling this mission alone.” 

  
“Yeah, well look where that got you, Cas,” Dean spat, turning away and grabbing the counter along the wall of the small room, unable to look at the stupid angel without wanting to slap him. 

  
“I’m fine, Dean,” Cas said, and now he could hear the irritation Dean saw so freshly in Castiel’s eyes in his normally gravelly, but typically patient voice. 

  
The clang of metal as Dean slammed his hand against the metal counter bounced off the cement walls like a cry.

“Like hell you are!” he growled, clenching his fists as he tried to regain control. His nerves were frayed and his hand ached as he slowly released his fist and rested his fingers against the cool metal. Slowly, he could feel his anger that pumped so violently in his veins only moments ago when he heard that Castiel was alive and injured but  alive thank fucking god leeching out and being replaced with something that he would rather not analyse right now. He was tired, that much he’d fess up to. “I told you that I wanted you to call me if you were in trouble. I don’t care if you thought you could handle it. You should’ve—you should’ve at least let me know where you were.”

  
A pause filled the space between them. 

  
“Dean.” 

  
Dean refused to budge, keeping his gaze firmly on the blank, periwinkle walls of the small room. He could have stayed that way forever but for a warm hand, albeit caked in dried blood, that gripped his shoulder and urged him back around. Dean’s body turned willingly yet he couldn’t bear to look at Castiel as anger, frustration and rage at the stupid stupid  stupid  idiot angel standing bloody and torn in front of him turned into something far more soft, far more complicated and fucking terrifying. 

  
A gentle--how the hell does some soldier of the heavens have a touch so soft and warm and  stop it-- hand cupped Dean’s face. His eyes squeezed shut until he heard a tender “Dean, please look at me,” in his best friend’s gravely, familiar voice. 

With more strength than Dean ever possessed before, Dean opened his eyes and let Castiel have his full attention. 

  
“Dean, I’m fine,” Castiel said, still cupping Dean’s face and still watching him with concerned eyes and still bloodied and bruised and Dean shook his head and tried pulling away. 

  
“Fine, whatever Cas. You’re okay this time,” he managed after his second try to pull away from the other man’s grip. “But how can you expect me to call to you for help if you don’t do the same for me?” 

Castiel’s head quirked to the side and Dean wished he could stay angry rather than feeling so goddamned adrift. 

  
“What do you mean?” 

  
“What do I mean?” Dean asked. Could Castiel really be that stupid? “What I mean is that you keep telling me to pray to you and all of that stupid shit, but how can I do that when you won’t do the same for me?”

  
“But what can you do that I wouldn’t be able to?” Castiel asked. Dean felt a lance of bitterness. Castiel couldn’t even imagine a situation where Dean might be useful. The angel didn’t say it to be mean, he said it because he was genuinely confused. 

  
“What you think it’s just angel powers that can help save the day?” Dean asked, crossing his arms. “To be honest, in my experience it doesn’t seem to do much more than add another load of problems.” 

  
Castiel seemed like he was about to argue that, but Dean had enough. “Whatever, man. You want to be all strong and powerful and shit, that’s fine. But then don’t expect nothin’ from me anymore, got it?” 

  
Dean left before he could hear an answer. 

  
Two weeks later, Dean and Sam were heading into Georgia. There had been some disturbances--strange winds, strong electrical signals and the like--down towards the Gulf. 

  
“Dean, wake up, your phone won’t stop ringing” Sam said, shoving his brother who was sleeping in the passenger seat. Dean wearily waved away his brother, but with a sigh picked up the phone. 

  
“Dean,” said a familiar voice. Suddenly he was awake. 

  
“Cas?” Dean said, sitting up in his seat. Sam looked over, curiously. 

  
“You said,” there was a pause, a shift, and Castiel’s voice lowered. “You said to call you, that I should call you if I needed….well, I called.” 

  
Dean stared at the road that zoomed underneath the tires of the Impala, blinking as he slowly accepted the weight of what Castiel was doing. Whether he was doing it because he really needed the help (which, considering Castiel hadn’t flashed into their backseat, was a pretty good sign) or because he knew, and maybe even accepted, that this was a team he was part of now, Dean had no idea.   
  


“We’re on our way, Cas,” Dean said. “Just tell us where to go.” 


End file.
